If This Is Real, Give Me What's Not
by MiHnn
Summary: They tell her it's not real, but she doesn't believe a word they say.


**A/N - Written for the Narnia Exchange.**

**Prompt : Lucy adjusting to life back in England with no hope of Narnia**

* * *

**If This Is Real, Give Me What's****Not**

.

Susan asked her once, "Do you miss it?"

Every day, every hour and every minute, Lucy thought as the familiar feeling of despair settled on her. Instead she said, "We were never meant to stay there forever."

It was true, she couldn't help but think. But, oh how she wished it wasn't. Everything that begins must have an end. Their time had come and gone. Now they must live their lives once more in another world and in another time where they were not rulers, but mere children who were simply seen and not heard.

It was hard adjusting to a world that thought them worthless and hard to accept the change that had befallen their lives once again. However, they all did their part silently. Peter rarely spoke of Narnia as he forgot, little by little, even as Edmund and Lucy kept silent on what they still remembered.

It wasn't long after when Susan forgot that Narnia ever existed.

* * *

There are moments when she sits silently on the street to watch the comings and goings of those around her. She would usually spend a few hours after school—when she would forget her lessons and open a packet of biscuits she had been saving for just such an occation—as her eyes darted from one person to another in wonder.

She would imagine what they would be like as creatures of Narnia. Perhaps the man selling flowers on the corner would be a mild-mannered, talking Beaver with words of wisdom for anyone who passed by. Perhaps the sharp-featured mother who was scolding her child could have easily been a distant cousin of the White Witch. She would live in a large castle hidden away from the Golden Age, not knowing of what had occurred her dear cousin, who was, admittedly, the black sheep of their family. Perhaps the young boy riding his bicycle would have easily shared his umbrella with her and then confess that he was a faun. And Perhaps the friendly, old man with a white beard, handing an ice cream cone to his grandson could be the same person who gave Peter a sword, Susan a bow, and two precious gifts to Lucy as they trudged through the snow all those years ago.

Only it didn't feel like so long ago. She could remember running through the trees of Narnia; trees that were alive with laughter and dance and colour. She remembered the creatures that spoke to her with such high intellect, although personally, she couldn't help but secretly think that they were positively adorable—a thought that would have insulted any self-respecting Narnian. And the opulence that was the palace they lived in, from the high ceilings and the large, ornate doors to the marble floors and the blossoming gardens. Her life was great, respected and full of purpose. Now her life consists of finishing her homework and ensuring that she somehow behaves so as not to worry her family.

So she sits quietly, perched on the edge of her seat on the streets of England, watching those who are in her world, while she imagines them in a world like no other. A world where there were kings and queens, a lion for a God, and talking animals. A world where everything is beautiful, glorious, and fate is changed by children as well as animals. A world where a lamppost looks out of place because candlelight is how a person sees in the dark.

She imagines all this while she eats her biscuits, and for a moment, she is happy.

* * *

Edmund writes sometimes, stories of pirates and mermaids, war and battle. He writes pages and pages of it and hides it under his bed, because he thinks that no one would dare look under his bed without being prompted.

Lucy found them a short while after they came back.

At first he had written about the White Witch and his love for Turkish Delight, then he had written about the rule of Narnia as the Golden Age began. He never used the names that she knew they were, simply calling his characters King Paul, Queen Sarah, King Edward and Queen Elizabeth. Once she found them, Lucy couldn't put them down. She always waited until she was sure Edmund was out, to sneak into his room and read the stories that spoke of a dream she was beginning to forget.

The names were different, but the stories were real. She read them again and again, each time the stories seeming a little more unfamiliar than the last. But she continued to read them knowing that they _were _real.

She had promised herself that she would never forget them, and yet…

So she reads and reads, wishing that she could remember the stories as vividly as Edmund had written them, and when he finds her crying over his pages, he tells her truthfully that it is nothing more than fiction before he takes the papers from her tight grasp and throws it into the flames.

He doesn't remember, she knows. Because if it did, he wouldn't have done what he had done and told her to stop crying over something that was never real.

He was gentle as he spoke to her, but Lucy could see the lack of conviction in his eyes.

* * *

Perhaps it was something more that made Lucy fall in love with the new wardrobe she was given. It was like a missing moment from her memory where something significant was meant to happen.

She walked around it once, twice, and more, her eyes studying the simple work as her fingers followed an imaginary trail along the wood.

There was something she was missing. She knew it, she could _feel _it.

It was not until she opened the wardrobe that she felt the sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in so long. Logically she knew that a wardrobe was meant for clothes, but she stepped into it instead.

She studied the inside of it carefully, her palms flat against the wood as she remembered that first time and the last when she and her siblings had fallen through a magical wardrobe into a world where anything was possible.

Lucy smiled at the sudden assault of memories. She had thought she had forgotten, but she hadn't. Not really.

With a wide grin she sat down against the back and curled herself into a ball as she screwed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into the wood.

Perhaps, if she thought hard enough she could remember every little detail.

Perhaps, if she wished hard enough she would wake up as Queen Lucy of Narnia alongside her brothers and sister as they continued to live the life they were always meant to live.


End file.
